I was just thinking of you

I was looking through old conversations to find Some pictures of pages I'd not seen in ages From a book that spoke of dreams There I saw your finger tips Not quite out of frame It's funny how you're not around Seems like yesterday I called your name In my sleep I'm haunted I'm not sure but I'm told there's something I might die from lack of purpose So if it kills me to do what I like I guess that's fine It's funny how we live our lives thinking there's a better time